


No. 5 Spectre Way

by jack_hunter



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Additional Chapters May Be Added, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artist!Sabine Wren, Chopper the Cat, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Journalist!Hera Syndulla, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paperboy!Ezra Bridger, Police Officer!Kanan Jarrus, Police Officer!Zeb, Rating may go up, title may change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26487652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_hunter/pseuds/jack_hunter
Summary: On the outside, Republica City looked like an amazing place. A mash up of hundreds of different races of people, all bringing their unique customs and beliefs into the city where they mingled throughout the neighbourhoods. From the sky-scraper metropolitan Core borough all the way to the suburban Mid Rim and the mostly rural Outer Rim districts, communities thrived and people were happy.Or so it seemed.---Star Wars: Rebels set in a modern au. This is technically still a work in progress but it will be "completed" until I decide to upload more chapters, when I will change its status.
Relationships: Depa Billaba & Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger & Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

On the outside, Republica City looked like an amazing place. A mash up of hundreds of different races of people, all bringing their unique customs and beliefs into the city where they mingled throughout the neighbourhoods. From the sky-scraper metropolitan Core borough all the way to the suburban Mid Rim and the mostly rural Outer Rim districts, communities thrived and people were happy. 

Or so it seemed. 

You wouldn’t have to live in the city for very long to see the problems it hid. Corruption was rife in the Core, the higher-ups of society taking bribes and blackmail being a part of everyday life. Farmers and workers were overworked and underpaid. The rich grew richer and the poor grew poorer. Gangs were commonplace, causing trouble in every borough, but the crime syndicate that called themselves The Empire controlled everything. They struck fear into the hearts of the citizens of Republica City. 

Almost two decades ago, Mayor Sheev Palpatine announced the beginning of what would later become known as the “War on Gangs”. The Republica City Police Department had detectives, sergeants and captains lead teams specifically to take control of these gangs, hoping to get the situation under control before more lost their lives to meaningless violence. Nearly fifteen years to the day, the Purge occurred. Traps laid for the brave officers of the RCPD saw the massacre of hundreds of men and women, leaving just three survivors in the aftermath. With most of the police departments severely hit, The Empire rose and began their reign of terror. 

Nowadays, you won’t see many trying to fight back. No matter how much they tried, the police departments just can’t put a stop to The Empire. People live in fear of what will happen should they speak out or get in the way, with more and more choosing to join the ranks of the crime syndicate with every passing day. Very few dare to oppose. 

Amidst all the chaos and disorder in the city, a small home resided in the outer rim neighbourhood of Lothal. It was nothing special, at least not on the outside, but this two-story house was a home to a mismatched family. A motorbike pulled up the driveway, parking out the front of the garage. The rider got off and removed their helmet; he was a tall man with tanned skin and long dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. The man took the keys from the ignition and hopped up the three steps onto the wooden porch, the motion light flickering on as he leaned to fumble with his key in the lock. The door swung open and the man stepped inside, placing his helmet on the small side table next to the door and removing his jacket. His dark blue shirt with the silver badge and little number ‘29’s on the collar was slightly crumpled from the ride, but he just loosened his dark tie and kicked off his boots. 

“Kanan, Hon, is that you?” A warm voice called out, echoing off of the walls. 

“Yeah, it’s just me, Hera!” Kanan replied. He hung his jacket up and walked down the hallway. To his right, an archway looked into the living room where the tv was on, the news reporter nattering away. To his left, a staircase led up to the second floor where the faint sound of a spray can could be heard. 

At the end of the hallway, a shorter woman was dishing up food onto four plates in the kitchen. She had darker skin and dark curls pulled back into two braids, green ribbons weaving through the plats. She was wearing a pair of faded and stained overalls with a light green shirt underneath, sleeves rolled up as she worked. 

“How was work?” she asked, turning to place the dirty oven tray in the sink. Kanan stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, chin resting against her shoulder. 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Kanan smirked, “helped an old lady cross the street, bought some doughnuts for lunch,” Hera giggled and leant her head back, pressing a kiss to Kanan’s cheek. 

“The life of a cop, huh?” she remarked, grabbing a tea towel and wiping her hands on the fabric. 

“And how about you? How is Republica City’s best journalist?” Kanan stepped back and reached into a cupboard, pulling out some glasses. 

“Well, I spent the entire day on a wild goose chase across the city,” she explained, frustration clear in her voice as she grabbed the cutlery from the draw. 

“Another dead lead?”

“Oh, honey, you have no idea!” The police officer placed his hand on the journalist’s shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to her hairline. She seemed to melt into the kiss, smiling softly as she sighed. A timer rang out. “Dinner’s ready.”

“I’ll go get the kids,” Kanan said, grabbing the stack of glasses and a jug filled with water off the counter. He left the kitchen not through the door he had entered through, but by going under the archway to the right of him and into the dining room where a large table with six chairs was neatly laid out with a red table cloth. He placed the jug down in the middle and laid out the four glasses - one at the head of the table, two on the left by the sliding patio door and one on the right by the living room door. 

“Grubs up, Zeb!” He called out into the living room. A gruff voice grunted in reply but Kanan had already walked off towards the stairs. He climbed up a couple, just enough so that he could see through the railing up at one of the doors. “Sabine! Dinner!” and with that, Kanan went back to the dining room. 

Hera was setting plates in their places, assisted by a very tall and muscular man with dark skin and short hair who was wearing an identical shirt to Kanan. “Good day over in the ‘29?” the man, Zeb, asked, clapping Kanan’s shoulder with one of his large hands. He pulled out the chair and sat down, the wood creaking as if it couldn’t quite hold the two hundred pounds of pure muscle perched atop it. 

“As good as it can ever be,” Kanan replied, “and the ‘46?” 

“Had a bit of trouble but nothing we couldn’t handle,” Zeb chuckled. 

“Boys, no talking work at dinner, you know the rules,” Hera chided lightly. Kanan took his place at the head of the table just as a young woman came sliding down the banister and running into the dining room. The woman, who couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, had lightly tanned skin and hazel eyes, bright blue hair in a pixie cut and paint-coated dungarees, her bare arms covered in tattoos. 

“You better be wearing a mask using those sprays, Sabine,” Hera told her as the teen slumped into her seat. 

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” Sabine waved off Hera’s worries and grabbed her fork, stabbing it into one of the potatoes.

“I know you do, sweetie, but I’m worried for my walls,” Hera remarked, sitting next to Sabine.

This house, at No. 5 Spectre Way in the fringes of the Lothal neighbourhood, isn’t where our story begins. Actually, we begin on the complete other side of the neighbourhood, past the houses and the shops, where the farmlands start. There, up in the rafters of a crumbling and abandoned windmill, a young boy with shaggy dark hair is curled up under a tattered blanket as the cold wind blows harshly. This is where we begin, with Ezra Bridger, as this is his story. 


	2. Chapter 2

The sun rose over the Lothal neighbourhood and through the window of Ezra’s windmill. Well, it wasn’t actually his, but he was the only one who had stepped foot inside for at least five years. Ezra woke when the sun began to warm his freezing body, his joints stiff and sore as it always was from the makeshift bed he had made up in the rafters of the windmill’s roof. Draping the blanket over one of the beams, the teen slid down the dangling rope he had tied up. The upper level of the windmill was a small and rounded room, but it was bare and falling apart. The stone walls were cracking and the floorboards creaked with each step. Aside from the blanket and straw-stuffed pillow, all the room held was an old backpack on a hook, a pair of well-worn trainers and two plastic storage boxes, both with holes in the sides. A thin piece of fabric was nailed up to hang down over the window like a curtain, kept in place only with sharp pieces of wood stabbed into the cracks in the walls. 

Ezra opened one of the storage boxes. A half-loaf of stale bread, some pieces of fruit that a supermarket had thrown out, and a box of crackers. Damn. Ezra sighed and swiped an apple from the box and closed the lid. The apple was devoured within a minute. Into his backpack the teen dove to retrieve a water bottle, but when he put it to his lips and tipped it up, barely a few drops fell out. The bottle went back into the bag. Ezra slipped on his trainers and picked the backpack off the hook. His shoulder ached as he pulled the bag onto his back, making the boy wince. A quick look around the room and Ezra left, hurrying down the spiral staircase and jumping over the missing steps. At the bottom, his leg snagged on one of the boards, tearing the fabric of his dirty jeans. “Ah, crap,” Ezra muttered, kneeling to inspect the hole left behind. The jeans were made for an eleven-year-old but they were still too long for Ezra, the waistband too loose. So was his t-shirt, once orange and now a dirty brown from mud and grime. His hood of his jacket was torn and hanging off, and the zip was broken. But it had to make do. 

With the sun rising higher, Ezra dragged his rusty bike out from the windmill and hopped on, pedalling towards the town. It was quite a distance, but a necessary one, as there was only one public drinking fountain that still worked in the Lothal neighbourhood. As the buildings became more prominent, Ezra took a few turns and came to a stop at the corner of a crossroad. No one paid him any attention, why would they? Everyone just went about their day, brushing past him without a second glance. Most looked like they were on their way to work, parents walking with their children to school, shops were beginning to open and still, no one looked at Ezra. So, he just kept going. He would fill up his water bottles and scavenge for some food and perhaps some old treasures people had thrown out that he could sell. 

The drinking fountain was gone. Ezra jumped from his bike at the small, out of the way corner where there only stood construction barriers and freshly poured concrete. The wind blew; Ezra shivered. His stomach rumbled. His mouth felt dry. 

Ezra hopped back on his bike and turned back the way he had come. Turning down a back alley, the teen hid his bike behind some dumpsters and underneath a piece of tarpaulin. It wasn’t like anyone was going to steal the piece of junk, but Ezra needed to make sure as if it was taken, he would have to walk for two hours to get home. 

Well, it wasn’t really home. Home was gone. It had been for seven years. 

The streets were getting busier but Ezra was still able to get by unnoticed. His short height meant that most just looked over his head. His thin hands could slip into pockets and take wallets, slipping just a few small bills - enough to be unnoticeable - from each before feigning ignorance and running to give it back, claiming the person dropped it. They would thank him, see his dishevelled look, and give him a couple of dollars to get something to eat. The crime paid well enough, even if Ezra’s gut churned with each pocket he picked. If he was ever caught, which was rare but it still happened, he was fast enough and nimble enough to slip away. Once Ezra had enough, just six dollars in total, he ducked into the closest corner shop and picked a few items. Things that didn’t need to be kept in a fridge, like crackers, some healthy granola bars, and some fruit. A few bottles of water and, if they had any, some mixed nuts. Just enough to help him get by. It wasn’t like he was able to cook anything, though sometimes he dared to make a small fire and try to heat up a pot of instant noodles. 

With his measly rations, enough that should hopefully last him a few days, Ezra left the shop and slipped the few cents of change into the only pocket without a hole in it. There wasn’t enough room in his tiny backpack for everything, so he ended up having to carry the only book he owned to make room for the water bottles. Across the street was a bike shop where a shiny new bike sat in the window under a spotlight. Ezra’s hands went to the change in his pocket. He’d never be able to save enough to buy it. No, Ezra just shook his head and turned to walk away. 

Just one more picked pocket and then Ezra could go back to the barn. He should probably try and fix the hole in the roof before it rained again. A tall man in dark blue stood just ahead of Ezra and no one was around, and he had just tucked his wallet into his trouser pocket. Ezra crept up behind him and reached for the wallet. The man turned around. 

Oh shit. 

Walking the 29th district, also known as Lothal, was a pretty easy gig for Kanan. Technically, he was assigned with the Special Victims Unit that worked out of the core neighbourhood of Alderaan, but with their forces stretched so thin, the officer was often stuck working alone in some of the outer neighbourhoods. It was fine by him; the most he had to deal with would be the drunken brawls in the evenings or a thief trying to steal from the supermarket. He could do that alone. Kanan had woken up very early, four am, and left Hera in bed. She slept so little that he made sure she got every lay in she could. The man got dressed, tied his hair back in a bun he could fit under his hat, and made himself a cup of coffee before grabbing his helmet and riding to work, his station being on the complete other side of the neighbourhood district. After parking his bike, Kanan left his bike gear in his locker and clocked in for his shift, badge on his chest, gun on his hip, and hat on his head. Once again, he was walking the beat alone. Fine by him. The more he worked the quicker he could work his way up to detective, and the early morning shift down the market square was the simplest shift as it was often quiet so Kanan could get himself a tasty late breakfast from the nearby café. That was actually what he had done. A breakfast bagel in one hand and his hat under his arm, he stuffed his wallet back into his trouser pocket and unwrapped his breakfast. He was just about to take a bite when something brushed against his side. Kanan spun around, and froze. 

The kid was… what, ten? He was certainly short enough to be. Long, messy black hair, lightly tanned skin covered in dust and dirt, mucky and torn clothes and worn-out shoes. A book clutched tightly to his chest. Kanan’s jaw dropped a little as his eyes went wide. He looked so similar to- the boy turned tail and ran. 

“Hey, kid, wait!” Kanan called out, slapping his hat on and hurrying after the boy. The kid was fast, that was sure, and he seemed to know the neighbourhood very well as he ducked down twisting alleyways with ease. Kanan tried to catch up, but he hadn’t worked at the ‘29 for very long. He didn’t know his way around all that well. The kid turned a corner and ducked through a gap in the fence, but Kanan was too big to fit through so he had to climb over. The kid was gone. 

No harm had been done. Kanan had just wanted to talk to the kid, ask if there was anything he could do to help, maybe buy him something to eat. The kid just needed some money, that was all. Kanan’s mind was reeling as he looked around the alley, but there was no sign of the boy anywhere. He turned to leave. As he did so, something caught his eye. A book, on the ground, It was small, the cover worn and well loved with the image of two girls and a lion dancing on the front. Kanan picked it up, inspecting it in his hands before opening the front cover. 

_ “To our darling Ezra, with love, Mama and Pops.”  _

How could he have been so stupid? He completely missed the fact that the man had been a  _ police officer _ , and he had tried to steal his wallet. Ezra had managed to escape the chase by squeezing through a fence, but he had tripped over the ledge and landed on his arm funny as he did. His wrist was really hurting, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He ran back to his bike and hopped on, pedalling as fast as he could until the town was just a dot in the distance and his windmill came into view. 

When Ezra was certain he was alone and safe, he put his bike away and ran up to his “room”, hanging his backpack on the hook. He fumbled with the zip - his right wrist screaming in pain whenever he tried to use it - but he managed to get it open and put his supplies away. He left the bag open. Off came his jacket and boots. Only then did he stop and inspect his arm. The joint had started to swell, twisted at a bit of an odd angle, and was beginning to bruise. Great, just great. Only Ezra could break his wrist from tripping over. With immense difficulty, Ezra jumped up and grabbed his blanket from the support beam. Goodbye warm blanket, he thought, tearing a few strips from the long side. It would have to do. He wrapped his wrist up as best he could with his non-dominant hand and tossed the rest of the blanket into the corner of the room. 

The pain began to fade after a while, but whether that was because it was actually going away or because Ezra had just stopped noticing it, he wasn’t sure. The teenager went back to his bag, digging around for something- … that wasn’t there. He took the bag off the hook and looked inside. It was empty. 

Where was his book?

Oh… He had been carrying it. 

“No…” Ezra breathed out, tipping his bag upside down as if it would magically fall out of a hidden compartment. No, he wouldn’t have dropped it. He couldn’t have. 

Could he? 

The realisation sunk in and Ezra fell to his knees, sobs wracking his body. The book had been the one thing he had always had his entire life on the streets, not able to read the words very well but knowing the story off by heart. The story of four siblings finding a magical world at the back of a wardrobe; an adventure Ezra had dreamed of going on himself only to wake up in the rafters of an crumbling windmill and remember that he was alone and that miracles didn’t happen because if miracles happened his parents wouldn’t have abandoned him seven years ago. Through the tears he looked up at the walls; a tally of scores were carved into the rocks, each mark a day since his parents had left him. 

Now, all he had left of them was gone too. 

Kanan’s shift was very uneventful after the incident with “Ezra”. The officer had kept a hold of the book, looking it over for any clues about the mysterious boy, but other than a name there had been nothing. The illustrations had begun to fade a lot more than the printed words, as if someone traced each line with their finger. As his shift ended, Kanan wound up back at the station to write up his daily report, but he felt hesitant to include any mention of the boy. If he did, “Ezra” could be considered a criminal. He was just a kid trying to get by, he didn’t need the cops on his tail. On the other hand, Kanan felt it was only right to find the owner of the book and return it. It could be an important possession. 

“Hey, Porter?” Kanan called out, getting the attention of one of the older officers. Porter had been at the ‘29 for almost twenty years and knew the neighbourhood better than most. 

“What’s up, Jarrus?” Porter replied, getting up from his desk to approach the younger man. 

“Had a run in with a homeless kid today, dropped this book,” Kanan explained, holding the book up for Porter to take, “long dark hair, tanned skin, just reaches past my shoulder, ring a bell?”

“Oh, yeah,” Porter said, and Kanan’s eyes lit up, “he’s been on the streets since as long as I can remember. Ezra, I think?” That was the name written in the book. Porter leant forwards and typed away at Kanan’s computer, opening folders and bringing up files until he found one in particular. One from over seven years prior. “Kid’s parents disappeared. Don’t know how he ended up on the streets instead of in an orphanage, though.” 

The “Ezra” in the file was much younger, the photo having come from a school record from when he was seven years old. Ezra Bridger, it read, son of Ephraim and Mira Bridger. Last known residence was 7 Lothal Road, but that block was abandoned now. Kanan scrolled through the file but it was fairly empty. 

“Do you know where he lives?” Kanan questioned, still staring at the screen, Porter stroked his chin. 

“Try the old windmill just outside of town. It’s a long shot but I remember seeing him bike off in that direction and that’s the only structure out there.” 

Hm… Maybe he should, but what would he say?


	3. Chapter 3

The best thing about doing the early morning shift was that Kanan was home by four pm. The house was quiet; Sabine would still be at work around that time and Zeb was on the night shift. He could hear Hera typing away upstairs in her office, and the pitter patter of paws on laminate flooring told Kanan that Chopper, Hera’s calico cat with temper issues, was in the kitchen. Kanan filled up Chopper’s food bowl and left the grumpy cat to eat. If he didn’t, he’d end up with the cat sitting on his face at two in the morning. Again. Hera was the only one Chopper was nice to, mostly because she spoiled the feline. 

Speaking of Hera, Kanan walked up the stairs and knocked thrice on the middle door on the right hand side of the landing. Her soft voice told him to “come in, Kanan”, so he did. 

“How did you know it was me?” He asked, leaning against the door frame. Hera’s office was just a small room that wasn’t quite big enough to be a bedroom, the only furniture being her desk and chair, a bookshelf and three filing cabinets. Stacks of papers and folders sat on the floor around her feet and the waste paper bin was overflowing with crumpled sheets. The curtains were wide open, the sun illuminating the woman and reflecting off of the dark curls she hadn’t bothered to tie back. 

“I could hear you grumbling to Chopper from up here,” Hera remarked, peering at Kanan through her rectangular glasses. 

“Well, he’s a grumpy little terror,” Kanan replied, walking to stand behind Hera and lean down over her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her, “still working on that article?”

“Unfortunately,” Hera admitted, “there’s been too much gang violence in the mid rim neighbourhoods for it to be ignored any longer. If no one else will write about it, then I will.”

“Y’know, that’s one of the things I love the most about you,” Kanan trailed soft kisses down her jaw, but Hera pulled away and raised an eyebrow. 

“What did you do this time?” She asked. Kanan shrugged. 

“What makes you think I did something?”

“I’ve known you for a while now, love, I know when you’re hiding something,” Kanan sighed and pulled away, grabbing the spare wooden chair from the corner of the room and dragging it over. He flipped it around and straddled it, leaning both arms against the top of the backrest. Hera could always read him; she could read everyone, it was what made her such a great reporter. The woman just had a way of telling the truth from lies, taking on subtle hints and reading stories from them. 

“I had a run in with a kid today,” he began, staring at his hands. Hera closed the lid of her laptop and took off her glasses, turning to face Kanan, “he was just a homeless kid, fourteen, he tried to steal my wallet…” a lump formed in his throat as he remembered the wide dark eyes, the unkempt hair, the dirty clothes, “he was so small, Hera. I thought I could see his ribs through his shirt, I…” his eyes closed, taking a deep breath. Images of Ezra became replaced with another boy, one with short dark hair and a hunger-pang frame, curled up down an alley in the core of Republica City where no one bothered to look twice at him, “I saw myself.”

Hera’s eyes softened and she reached to take both of Kanan’s hands in her own, stroking a thumb over his knuckles. 

“Does he have any family?” she asked. Kanan shook his head. 

“His parents disappeared seven years ago, there was never an investigation,” Kanan explained. He fell quiet for a moment, many thoughts flashing through his mind, “he doesn’t have anyone, Hera. Like I didn’t…” 

Hera’s hand moved from Kanan’s own to cup the man’s cheek, an action he leant into. 

“Hera, I-...”

“Hon,” Hera said softly, making Kanan look into her eyes, “whatever you choose to do, I am with you. I know how much this kind of stuff affects you, and I know you wished you had someone back then. Whatever happens, I’m behind you a hundred percent.” Kanan got up from his seat and threw his arms around Hera, an act the woman reciprocated with a smile. 

“Come on,” Hera started, pulling away from Kanan just a little, “tell me what your plan is.” Kanan’s smile grew. What did he do to deserve Hera?

Trying to climb up the rope to his makeshift bed with a busted wrist was difficult, so Ezra just didn’t bother. There wasn’t much time until sunset, but it was too dangerous to light a fire in the small room as the floorboards would catch alight too easily. Instead, Ezra made do with his time tinkering with the scraps of treasures he had managed to fish out whilst dumpster diving over the past week. Most of the items he has scavenged were unsalvageable, but it gave Ezra something to do to distract himself from the pain in his stomach as it rumbled. If he was lucky and could properly fix something, he would make the trip to the Jakku neighbourhood and find the junkyard where the owner would buy scraps from people. Most of the time the trip wasn’t worth it, but it had its rewards from time to time. 

Granola bars were difficult to open with one hand, the teen having to use his teeth to try and tear into it as he really couldn’t move his wrist anymore. In the end, he gave up and threw it back into the storage container. It was getting late. Ezra got up and picked up the tool part of the broken screwdriver he had found, walking over to the wall and making one more score into the side. He wasn’t sure how many marks he had made now; he lost count after the first thousand. 

A rumbling noise flittered into the room and Ezra froze. Was that… a motorbike? Had someone followed him? Ezra ran down the stairs and dived to hide behind the old grain mill, the rotting wooden pillar pressed against his back and his screwdriver held tightly as the only thing he had to defend himself. Headlights flicked off, the engine stopped. Grass crunched outside and soon footsteps were echoing off of the stone floor. A small light flashed on, waving around the room. As it passed over his hiding space, Ezra stood as still as he could. The light lingered. 

“Ezra?” a voice spoke. It was the police officer. How did he know his name? Dammit, Ezra was in trouble. The teen held his breath. 

“I just came to return this,” the officer continued. There was a rustling and soon the light dipped, as if the man knelt down to the ground. The silence dragged on, Ezra didn’t move. “Ezra, I… you probably wouldn’t believe me if I said I know what you’re going through… but I really do. I was in your position once. I know what it’s like…” The officer sighed, “There’s a house, number Five Spectre Way. If you want, there’s a hot meal, a shower and a warm place to sleep waiting for you, for as long as you need it. You don’t have to accept the offer today, but it is there for you whenever. Ask for Kanan, or Hera,” The silence returned. Soon, the footsteps retreated, the bike started up again and disappeared into the distance as the engine faded from earshot. 

Ezra cautiously looked out from behind the pillar. On the floor was his book. Without a second thought the teen rushed to snatch it up, fumbling to open the cover and trace his parents’ hand-written message. The sun was beginning to set. 

A hot meal, a shower, and a warm bed. Three things Ezra hadn’t had in seven years. Three things he had longed for every day since his parents left him. Now, this stranger was offering them to him. Ezra was hesitant to even consider it; he didn’t know this man! The fact that he was a cop meant nothing when you had spent so long alone. 

Ezra’s stomach rumbled. The wind blew and he shivered. His wrist ached. The sun kept setting.

Kanan rarely watched the TV, but the sofa gave him a direct view out of the window onto the front porch, and the latest episode of ‘9-1-1’ was on and seeing stupid people get in trouble with the emergency services always made Kanan smile. Years ago, Kanan would spend his evenings in bars getting wasted and starting brawls. He had no responsibilities other than delivering some goods in the morning and then collecting his pay in the afternoon to spend it all on booze. Those years were behind him. Now, he spent his evenings either working at the station or curled up in the chair by the fireplace with a book. On Thursdays, he would have a kick-about at the local football field with the guys and gals from work. 

It was dark outside, the street lights illuminating passing cars and the occasional person out walking their dog. The hours passed and the episodes changed, and Kanan started to think Ezra wasn’t going to arrive. It made his heart sink a bit, but he understood. Being alone for so long made it difficult to build lasting trust with others as the constant fear of being abandoned at the first convenience was always at the forefront of their mind. 

It’s why Kanan ran away from the orphanage. No one wanted to adopt a fourteen year old, but he had to give Cal a chance. 

The doorbell rang out through the house and Kanan jumped up from the sofa. Hera beat him to the door, opening it and mostly blocking the view of the porch from where Kanan waited at the archway of the living room. 

“Can I help you, sweetie?” Hera asked the person at the door. 

“Um… I’m looking for Kanan? O-or Hera?” came Ezra’s voice. Kanan smiled. 

“I’m Hera, and you must be Ezra, come on in,” Hera stepped to the side and Ezra timidly stepped into the entrance hall. He was hunched in on himself, left hand gripping his upper right arm tightly and head bowed just a bit to hide his eyes behind his hair. Ezra spotted Kanan and risked a glance up, averting his eyes seconds later. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Kanan said, approaching the boy and kneeling down so he could look into Ezra’s eyes, “I’m Kanan,” he held out his hand. Ezra cautiously shook it. 

“Honey, why don’t you go and get started on dinner?” Hera suggested, “I’ll show Ezra to the guest room.” Kanan got back up, patting Ezra’s shoulder gently before he turned and went to the kitchen. 

He honestly hadn’t expected Ezra to take him up on his offer, but ten minutes later and the familiar sound of the shower came from upstairs. The landing floorboards creaked as the airing cupboard was opened. That was where Hera kept the clean towels. Kanan rummaged in the cupboard for some cans of simple chicken soup and began to heat it up, buttering some bread to go with it. He didn’t want to give Ezra too much as it would risk shocking his malnourished system. He and Hera had already eaten, but they could manage some soup for Ezra’s sake. 

Hera entered the kitchen with a stack of towels in her hands. “Dryer?” Kanan asked, and he saw her nod from behind the tower. 

“I thought he would like them nice and warm,” Hera explained, slipping past Kanan to go out the door that connected with the garage. The washer and dryer were in there. 

The shower switched off after about half an hour, so Kanan dished up the soup and took it to the dining room. He placed two at his and Hera’s usual places, the third in the spot to Kanan’s left next to the chair Zeb claimed. Hera went back upstairs but soon returned, Ezra trailing behind her. His hair was still damp but he looked cleaner, and the set of pyjamas Kanan had offered were far too big on him, but Ezra had rolled up the cuffs of the trousers and sleeves until his hands and feet were visible. He was so small. 

The two adults sat down, but Ezra lingered at the door for a second. It took Hera asking him to sit down for him to shuffle over, slowly sitting in the chair and pausing before he picked up the spoon. After the first mouthful, Kanan could see that he was trying his best not to scarf the meal down. Kanan ate about two thirds of his own meal before he pushed the plate away. 

Kanan and Hera kept up an easy conversation whilst Ezra ate, nothing important being said. When Ezra was finished, he yawned and stretched before freezing and shrinking in his seat. Hera got up and collected the plates. 

“Come on, kid,” Kanan nudged gently, getting up from his own chair and offering Ezra a hand, “I think there’s a bed with your name on it waiting.” Ezra took the hand and stood up, following Kanan back up the stairs to the room at the far end of the landing opposite the bathroom. It was a small room with a bunk bed that had been in the room when Hera had first moved in. Ezra’s trainers and backpack sat at the foot of the bottom bunk. Kanan stayed for a little while longer to make sure Ezra was settled, resisting the urge to tuck the blankets in around the boy since he wasn’t actually the small kid Kanan kept thinking he was. Kanan did, however, switch on the lamp on the bedside table and draw the curtains closed. 

“I’ll probably be at work by the time you wake up tomorrow, but Hera will be here,” Kanan explained gently, perching on the edge of the bed. Ezra didn’t meet his eyes, but he nodded. 

“Thank you,” the teen’s timid voice said. Kanan smiled. 

“No problem, Ezra,” he replied, “sweet dreams.” Kanan got up and headed to the door, glancing back one final time. Ezra had laid down on his left side, looking at the window. 

It was a start. Maybe the start of something good. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ezra felt so… warm. The blankets were so soft and smelled like flowers, the mattress impossibly comfortable. His hair didn’t feel greasy anymore. His stomach didn’t hurt. He had to be dreaming. There was no way he was sleeping in a real bed. He hadn’t had a bed in years. Ezra kept his eyes closed and snuggled down deeper into the cocoon he had made with the bedclothes, pillows piled around his head. Maybe if he stayed under the blankets he would be able to stay forever, or at least until he got hungry again. 

A heavy weight landed on Ezra’s stomach and the teen shot up, his head bumping the bottom of the bunk above him. With a yelp, Ezra looked down at his lap to find an orange and white calico cat there. The cat scowled, turned tail so its butt was right in Ezra’s face, flicked the kid’s nose with his tail, and trotted to the other end of the bed where it curled up and went to sleep. 

Now wide awake, and realising he hadn’t been dreaming, Ezra glanced around the room he was in. A bunk bed, a dresser and matching wardrobe, a desk with a chair. Cream coloured walls. Light grey curtains. Simple, clean, tidy. His backpack and old trainers had been moved from the end of the bed to on top of the dresser, where two stacks of clothes had been folded neatly. Ezra moved the blanket and stood up. He was wearing light green pyjamas that had been rolled up to fit him better. 

Oh, right. He had stayed the night with… Kanan? And Hera? Yeah. That sounded right. 

One of the stacks of clothes was Ezra’s old rags, which the teen immediately went for. They had been washed, and the hole in the jeans had been sewn up, but they still looked old and worn. The other stack of clothes looked fresh. A pair of denim dungarees that had a few paint stains on the front pocket, a blue and white horizontal striped shirt, white socks, and a pair of underwear which definitely looked too big. 

Ezra folded his old clothes back up, changing into the dungarees. They were a little long in the leg and the shoulder straps were too loose at first, but they were comfortable, though a bit difficult to get on with just his left hand. A quick glance in the mirror on the wall and Ezra noticed his hair was clean and slightly puffier than he ever remembered. He ran his hands through the ends, enjoying the softness whilst trying to make it look somewhat decent. 

The hallway was empty when Ezra left the room, backpack sling over his shoulder and trainers in his hand. Music reached Ezra’s ears as he descended the stairs, footsteps as soft as he could make them. The door was right ahead and he planned to head straight to it, but something told him not to. He couldn’t just run out, not after Hera and Kanan had fed him and let him stay the night. He should at least thank them first. Putting his shoes and backpack down by the coat rack, tucked out of the way, the teen turned towards where the music was coming from. 

A girl about Ezra’s age was lying upside down on the sofa in the living room, a pencil and notepad in her hands and her phone blaring music. Her bright blue hair wasn’t long enough to touch the floor, and she had lots of tattoos on her arms. The girl noticed when Ezra appeared at the door, sitting upright and reaching to pause her music.

“Hey!” she greeted, “Ezra right?” Ezra just nodded, “I’m Sabine, Hera said you’d be here.” 

“Um… w-where is Hera?” Ezra asked her. 

“Right here, honey,” a voice spoke up, making Ezra jump. He spun around and found Hera behind him, her hair down and glasses on her face. She was smiling and had a tray with a bowl of cereal, glass of orange juice and an apple on it, “I was just bringing this up to you. Why don’t you go sit down and eat? There will be plenty of time to talk after,” Ezra didn’t argue, just followed Hera through the living room into the dining room and sat down at the same seat he had sat in the night before. The cereal was just plain oats, but it looked heavenly and Ezra gratefully accepted the honey that Hera offered him to drizzle on top. Hera sat down opposite him. 

“So, Kanan is at work but he will be home at around four,” she informed him, “I’ve got to go to the office for a meeting at one this afternoon, but until then I- Ezra, what’s wrong with your hand?” Ezra, who had just been about to reach for his orange juice, quickly pulled his hand back into his lap. 

“I-It’s nothing!” He lied, but Hera wasn’t convinced. She raised an eyebrow at him, one that seemed to bore deep into his sole, and soon he was bowing his head, “I-I landed on it funny yesterday. I-it’s fine, I promise!” His words didn’t reassure Hera as she was by his side in an instant. She reached for his wrist, but Ezra flinched away, holding his right arm tight against his chest. Hera paused, then held her hand out flat. She waited patiently, smiling softly and reassuringly, ahd Ezra placed his bad wrist in her grasp, letting Hera look it over. The wrist itself was purple, slowly spreading out up his arm and down to his fingers, and it wasn’t quite straight anymore, with a strange bump that hadn’t been there yesterday morning. 

“What happened?” Hera asked him. Ezra shrugged. 

“I fell over,” he admitted, “landed on it funny.” Hera hummed as she turned the wrist over once more. 

“We should get this checked out by a doctor,” she suggested, but Ezra shook his head and pulled his arm away. 

“It’s fine,” he argued, “a-and besides, I don’t have a doctor or-”

“Honey, this looks really bad,” Hera explained softly, “why don’t we stop by the emergency room and see what they say?” Ezra wanted to argue, wanted to tell her not to bother because he got hurt all the time and it always healed, but no one had shown that much care for his well being in years. 

“I-... Okay,” he relented. It could be good to get it checked, he thought, but then he was leaving. He had bothered these nice people too much. 

Sabine apparently worked as Hera’s assistant, living with the woman because it was an easier arrangement. She was also the one who the paint-stained dungarees Ezra was wearing belonged to. “Sorry for the paint,” she had apologised with a shrug, “I get messy easily when I’m in the zone.” Ezra had just waved it off and thanked her for letting him borrow them. Hera had appeared again just after that, hair tied back in two long braids with green ribbons weaving through them and wearing a simple grey pant suit with a white blouse. She ushered Ezra to put some shoes on - “Wear the blue high-tops!” Sabine called out to him from the living room - whilst she slipped on her heels. “You can leave your bag here if you’d like, Ezra,” Hera told him, walking to the door. Ezra slipped his backpack on. 

The garage door was open when Ezra stepped out the front door. He peered around the corner to find Hera pulling a white tarp off of a car. It was very stylish with a black paint job and a sleek design, and a number plate that read ‘GH-0ST’. “I don’t get to take my baby out all that often,” she said to him, “but the emergency room is in the city and you cannot ride on the back of my bike with that wrist.” She tossed the tarp into a corner and fished for her keys from her purse, unlocking the car door and climbing into the driver’s seat. Ezra joined her. 

Ezra wouldn’t be lying if he said he had never left his neighbourhood before, but it was the truth. He was born and raised in Lothal and never travelled further than Hera and Kanan’s house, which was on the border with the next neighbourhood. The farms and open fields disappeared, replaced by townhouses and office buildings, and Ezra couldn’t stop staring out the window. Hera must have sensed his awe as she pressed a button by the radio. 

“Wanna put the top down?” she asked him. Ezra just gave her a blank look. What top? Suddenly, the roof of the car started moving, folding backwards until it was gone completely. Whoa. 

It wasn’t too long of a drive to the emergency room. Hera parked her car and put the roof back up, grabbing her purse before the two got out and walked to the entrance. There was a small waiting room with rows of chairs and a desk, posters lined the walls and double doors opened and closed as doctors and nurses walked in and out. It wasn’t too busy, but Ezra shrunk in on himself and kept his head down. Hera guided him to one of the seats in the corner and told him that she was going to speak to the receptionist. Ezra just waited for her to return, and after about five minutes she came back with a clipboard. 

It was probably the longest wait of Ezra’s life, but eventually his name was called and he and Hera followed a nurse through the doors and into an isolated room. It looked the same as the doctors rooms did back when Ezra last visited one, when he was five and broke his elbow, but there was no doctor in sight and the nurse asked them to wait there. Hera helped Ezra to jump up onto the examination table and the teen let his legs dangle, kicking lightly. The doctor, a woman with frizzy golden curls and glasses, arrived shortly after. 

“Hi, I’m Dr. Manning,” the woman introduced. 

“Hera Syndulla,” Hera greeted her, shaking her hand before the doctor turned to Ezra.

“You must be Ezra, right?” she asked. Ezra nodded, “Nice to meet you, I’m going to take care of you today,” the doctor pulled up her chair and sat in front of the teen, “what seems to be the problem?”

“M-My wrist,” he stuttered, carefully holding out his wrist for Dr. Manning to inspect, just like Hera had done back at her house. 

“Ooh, that’s some nasty bruising,” Dr. Manning noted, before looking Ezra right in the eyes, “I’m going to do some checks on this, and I’m also gonna do a couple of welfare checks just to make sure nothing else is hurt, okay?” Ezra nodded. The doctor stood up. 

“Ezra,” Hera spoke from by the door, “I’m going to step outside and call Kanan and tell him where we are, just so he doesn’t worry, OK?” Ezra wanted to argue, wanted her to stay, but he bit his tongue and just nodded instead. He really didn’t feel like talking, his mind was reeling too much. Hera gave him a smile and stepped outside the door. 

Desk duty was fun when nothing happened in your neighbourhood. Most of the time when Kanan was at the station he just mucked around with the other sorry sods who ended up stuck in the most boring part of the city, playing waste paper basketball or listening to Officer Riven’s stories of his three ex-wives. It was nice having a bit of fun, especially when that fun didn’t involve alcohol, and the officer certainly wasn’t expecting a phone call from Hera when he knew she was supposed to be in a meeting. 

“Hey, love, what’s wrong?” He asked, leaning back on his chair. 

_ “I had to take Ezra to the emergency room,” _ Hera told him, making Kanan shoot upright in his seat,  _ “his wrist was purple this morning; he said he tripped yesterday. The doctor is looking over him now.”  _

“Do you need me to come down there?” Kanan asked her, already reaching for his hat. 

_ “Actually, yes,” _ Hera replied,  _ “When I spoke to the receptionist and explained Ezra’s situation, she said that he could get treated but he couldn’t be released until a member of the Child Protective Services spoke with him. I’m worried if Ezra finds out, he will make a run for it. I could use some help.”  _

“I’ll be there in fifteen, love,” Kanan told her, and as soon as she hung up he was out of his seat and hurrying to his locker. A quick conversation with his Captain - “family emergency,” he had claimed, knowing he would be allowed to explain better later - and soon Kanan was on his bike and riding into the city. 

The streets were very easy to navigate on his bike. There was very little traffic but that only made his trip easier and meant he made it to the emergency room with ease. Fourteen minutes to be exact, and no, he hadn’t broken any speed laws on the way. The receptionist took one look at his uniform and was helpful in finding the room Ezra was in, so Kanan thanked her and tipped his hat before hurrying down the corridor. As he approached, Hera and Ezra stepped out of the examination room, the former with her hands on the latter’s shoulders to steer him to follow a doctor in the opposite direction. Ezra didn’t notice Kanan, but Hera did, whispering to the boy that she would be right behind them before pausing to wait for Kanan to catch up. 

“He’s going for an x-ray,” Hera began, stopping the question before Kanan had a chance to answer, “the doctor thinks it’s just a fracture so he’ll probably need a cast for a few weeks.” Kanan sighed, shoulders slumping a bit. 

“He looked so afraid,” Hera whispered, her hand slipping into Kanan’s as she glanced in the direction Ezra and the doctor had disappeared to. 

“I’m not surprised. This might be the first hospital he has been in since before his parents disappeared,” Kanan suggested. He squeezed Hera’s hand and pulled her in close, propping his chin on the top of her head. 

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know anything medical so please don't @ me on this, I'm relying on Google.   
> Also, as this is a made up city, they have a made up child protective services because I've tried researching it and it was really depressing. I'm making it up. Once again, please do not @ me on this.

Dr. Manning had been right: a wrist fracture, easy to fix with a cast. There was an array of colours available to choose from: red, blue, green, orange, bright pink. Ezra chose white. As the nurse prepared the cast, Ezra eagerly eyed the jar of lollipops Dr. Manning picked up off of the table, opening the lid so the teen could choose one. He chose red. Kanan watched from by the door, listening as the doctor explained the process of fitting the cast and talked a little about the materials in an attempt to keep Ezra distracted. It worked. His uncomfortable fidgeting stopped as he listened, instead he had begun to rock back and forth in his seat. Hera’s phone kept pinging every five minutes so she stepped out to make some calls; the fear that rose in Ezra’s eyes as she announced she was leaving the room made Kanan’s heart clench. He made sure to smile when the kid looked his way, getting a shy twitch of the lips in return before he became distracted by what the nurse was doing. 

Hera stuck her head in through the door and called Kanan’s name, beckoning him outside. Kanan stood up straighter and went to follow, but from the corner of his eye he saw Ezra freeze. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, kid,” Kanan told him, detouring to stop by Ezra’s side and pat his shoulder, “I’m gonna step out and let the doctor do her work, okay, and Hera and I will be back as soon as it’s done.” The kid looked so small on the table, shoulders slumped forwards, uninjured hand tightly gripping his knee, but he nodded in understanding and didn’t put up any argument. 

Kanan turned around and walked to the chair against the wall. It was being used to hold Hera’s purse and coat, and on top of the pile sat his eight-point police hat. He picked it up and went back to Ezra’s side, carefully slapping the cap down onto the teen’s head. It was a little too wide and slid down so the brim fell over his eyes, but Ezra pushed it up and gave Kanan the most confused look the officer had ever seen. 

“Now I have to come back; can’t go go work without my hat, I’ll get written up for uniform code again,” he smirked, flicking the brim down so it fell back over Ezra’s eyes. Kanan had already moved to leave the room, so he missed the way Ezra’s face lit up and he smiled brighter than he had in the past twenty-four hours the man had known him. 

Hera wasn’t alone in the corridor. A short woman in a black office dress and matching blazer and her light hair pulled back into a tight bun was with her. She looked like a strict school teacher and that immediately put Kanan on edge. As the woman rummaged around in the folder she held, Kanan folded his arms over his chest and stood up tall. The woman looked up and gave him a smile, closing her folder and holding her hand out for the police officer to shake. “Officer Jarrus, right? I’m Maria Danvers, I’m with the Child Protective Services,” Kanan shook her hand, “I was just explaining to Ms. Syndulla about the procedure that will happen here today.” 

“And what would that be?” Kanan asked, not too unkindly. Hera shot him a glare but Ms. Danvers seemed unfazed. 

“I’m going to have a private conversation with Ezra and with his doctor to determine his physical and mental well-being,” Ms. Danvers explained, “afterwards I will make a decision on what I believe will be best for his health and safety. I will also be taking into consideration the information from both of your government records which I have read through thoroughly.” Kanan felt his heart stop. He knew what was written in his file. Ms. Danvers seemed satisfied with her explanation, and the understanding response Hera gave her, as she disappeared into the examination room. 

Both the officer and the reporter collapsed into the uncomfortable plastic chairs outside the door. Hera’s hand slipped into Kanan’s own and he squeezed it tightly, sending as much love and reassurance as he could through that one action. Everything was out of their hands; Ezra’s fate lay in the decision of Ms. Danvers and the impression she had gotten of the couple from their records. There was no doubt that Hera would be seen as responsible and trustworthy with Ezra’s care, but Kanan was a bastard orphan with an alcohol problem and trust issues. His current title as an officer of the law did nothing to erase his past as a runaway that lived on the streets stealing, begging, borrowing and bartering. At the same time, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe because Kanan knew what it was like, he would be seen as a good role model for Ezra to show him there was more out there for him. 

Kanan, a good role model? Ha! That was a funny joke. If anything he was the epitome of what someone shouldn’t become. If not for Hera, Kanan would still be that drunken womaniser who slept on the floor of a bar, getting nowhere in life except more and more wasted each day. 

“Stop that,” Hera scolded lightly, her hand whacking his shoulder to shake Kanan from his thoughts. He scowled and rubbed the offended shoulder. 

“Stop what?”

“You get this look in your eye when you’re self-deprecating. So stop it,” she told him, shifting to lean up against him. Kanan pulled her into his arms, holding Hera tightly. 

“You know me too well, it’s scary,” he admitted. Hera just laughed. 

Fourteen years ago, a young teen with messy dark hair and tanned skin sat with his head bowed and hands clasped in his lap outside an office at the courthouse. There was no clock in the hallway, no one that passed paid him any sort of attention, and it felt like the teen had been there for an eternity. The chair was uncomfortable and the air conditioning was blasting, making him shiver as he only had a thin t-shirt on. The teen picked at his nails, his leg bouncing as he waited and waited and waited. He was alone and afraid, waiting for some stranger to decide his fate. 

He missed his mother. She was gone now.

The door next to the chair the teen was sitting in opened and he jumped to his feet. Two people exited the office. A woman with dark hair pulled tightly into a bun, thick glasses and a frown permanently plastered on her lips stared down at him, her eyes boring into the teen’s soul and forcing him to avert his eyes as she glared. Instead, the teen looked to the other person. He was a man with short auburn hair and a beard, but he was also frowning and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. 

“Caleb-” the man began, a thick accent coating his words, but the woman interrupted him. 

“Mr. Dume, it has been decided that you will not be allowed to stay with Detective Kenobi anymore,” she stated bluntly, no hint of emotion other than exasperation in her tone. Caleb’s heart dropped. 

“Wha- why not?” He asked, eyes flicking back and forth between the two. Detective Kenobi looked away. The woman just didn’t seem to care. 

“It has been decided and that is the end of the discussion,” she continued, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“No! No, th-that can’t be true! I-” 

“Caleb,” the Detective said again, getting the teen’s attention. Kenobi knelt down to he was the same height as the boy, a hand coming to grasp his shoulder, “it’s okay,” he said, but Caleb just shook his head and let the tears in his eyes fall. 

“Mama said I would stay with you,” Caleb cried. 

“I know, dear one,” Kenobi sighed, “but the social worker said you can’t and I can’t argue with them.” Caleb let out a sob, throwing himself into the Detective’s arms. 

“Don’t leave me too,” he begged. Kenobi hugged him tightly, his hand burying itself in Caleb’s hair as he stroked it gently. 

“I won’t,” he said, “I’m going to do everything I can to get you back, but it’s going to take a while,” Kenobi pulled away and looked Caleb in the eyes, “I promise I will do everything I can, okay?”

“O-Okay.” Kenobi smiled, brushing the tears rolling down Caleb’s cheeks away. The social worker cleared her throat and when Caleb glanced over at her, she was tapping her foot impatiently. With one last glance back at Detective Kenobi, who smiled sadly and nodded his head, Caleb reluctantly pulled away and dragged his feet over to where the woman was waiting for him. He kept looking back over his shoulder, but each time he did he was all but dragged away. 

Days turned to weeks and weeks into months. Each day Caleb waited, praying that when he woke up, Detective Kenobi would be there with a smile and hug him. He never came. Caleb only lasted seven months at the orphanage, running away one night after tucking his new best friend, Cal, into bed. Cal deserved better but that wasn’t possible all the while Caleb was around. 

Years later and Caleb sat in a familiar position as he waited and waited and waited. The only difference was now he went by Kanan Jarrus, he was a Republica City Police Officer like his mother had been, and he was not waiting for his own fate to be decided. He and Hera sat in the hallway for what felt like hours in silence, the worst case scenarios flashing across their minds as they sought comfort from their fears in each other’s arms. Doctors and nurses passed them without second glances, ushering other patients down to wherever they needed to go. Hera seemed to be fairing a lot better with the wait, but Kanan knew it was starting to get to her as her heels began tapping on the lionem floor and she began picking at the coloured polish on her nails. It was better than her biting them; at least the polish could be touched up later. Kanan was just growing frustrated, fear boiling in his stomach with each passing minute. What was happening inside that room? Was Ezra ok? Did he feel safe? Kanan tried to not let his own distrust of the Child Protective Services to cloud his judgement of how Ms. Danvers did her job; the woman genuinely seemed concerned for Ezra’s wellbeing and her presence just felt far too different to that of the horrible woman who had thrown him into that orphanage fourteen years ago. Ms. Danvers didn’t seem stuck up or snooty, glaring down her nose at everyone who tried to say they knew what was best for Caleb Dume and ignoring his mother’s dying wishes for her only son to be placed in the care of her partner. No. Ms. Danvers seemed kind, friendly, and understanding. 

The door opened and Kanan and Hera jumped to their feet. Ms. Danvers was the only one who left the room, closing the door behind her before she turned to the couple and smiled. Hera gripped Kanan’s hand tightly, but Kanan barely noticed as he held his breath and waited for Ms. Danvers’ verdict. 

“I’m going to open an investigation to see if we can figure out how Ezra slipped through the cracks of the system,” Ms. Danvers explained simply, folders in one arm as she pulled out some papers, “now, given the circumstances and his injury, I feel confident in assigning you both temporary guardianship of Ezra,” Kanan breathed again, his shoulders sagging whilst Hera’s grip on his hand loosened, “it will be for forty-two days or until his cast is removed, but once it is gone I will have to take him in as a Ward of the City unless you choose to apply for custody through the courts. That process can take a while, so I would suggest you make your decision quickly.”

“What happens if we do apply?” Hera asked her, beating Kanan to the punch. 

“After your initial court hearing, the wait can be up to three months,” Ms. Danvers replied, “but if you are granted that first hearing I will consider extending your guardianship until the application is either approved or denied.” Ms. Danvers clipped the papers onto the front of her file and removed a pen from her bun, handing them both to the couple. “If you sign these papers I will release Ezra into your guardianship, all the information you need to know is written there and that includes all the terms and conditions that will come with it.” 

Kanan and Hera signed the papers almost immediately, after Hera insisted they actually sit down and look over the information. Kanan just wanted to get out of the hospital. 

With the papers signed, Ms. Danvers took just the final three pages and left the rest with Hera and Kanan, saying her goodbyes and leaving through the main doors. It took a moment for the couple to compose themselves - Hera from her giddiness now she could help Ezra and Kanan from the overwhelming relief he felt that Ezra would not end up like himself - but the two opened the examination room door and went back inside. Ezra was still sitting there on the table, one arm wrapped in its bright white cast and Kanan’s hat still on his head. He was glancing around, feet swinging where they were dangled over the table edge, but when he saw them both Ezra hopped down to his feet. 

“Ready to go?” Kanan asked him. 

“I get to go back with you?” Ezra asked, eyes wide but he was smiling. Kanan nodded, and stumbled as he found himself with an armful of a teenage boy that crushed him into a hug, “thank you so much,” Ezra cried, pulling away from Kanan to do the same to Hera, “thank you for not sending me away.”

No, Kanan was not about to cry. Those weren’t tears in his eyes, he just got some dust in them. 

“Let’s get going,” Hera said, picking up her bag and blazer. Ezra took off the hat and offered it back to Kanan, who took it and put it on. Hera thanked the doctor and Ezra was offered another red lollipop, which he happily ate as the three of them walked towards the reception. Hera and Ezra got back into the car and Kanan got on his bike, following behind them as they all left the city and headed back to Lothal. 

Ezra chose Kanan and Hera.


End file.
